


My Keeper

by moonfleur



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfleur/pseuds/moonfleur
Summary: He looked at the sleeping figure, mostly hidden under the covers except for his face, which stood out, pale against the darkness of the sheets. He knew that face so well, knew it by heart, knew every crevice, every scar, every blemish.Yes, he knew that face so well, but he also knew that the other no longer knew his.





	My Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Rai, the one solid WonHui stan I know. Thank you for giving me the title to this fic :)
> 
> Mainly inspired by WonHui as each other's Keepers but it was also brought about by me being in my feels the last few days. It might be a mess but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Jun rolled out of bed, careful and silent, so as not to wake the person on the other end. So as not to startle him. He walked around the foot of the bed, careful to avoid that one plank that always creaked loud enough to wake the dead if anyone stepped on it. He reached the other side of the bed and carefully lowered himself into the chair that he would place there every night, without fail, so that he could be there in the morning. Be there when he woke up. 

He looked at the sleeping figure, mostly hidden under the covers except for his face, which stood out, pale against the darkness of the sheets. He knew that face so well, knew it by heart, knew every crevice, every scar, every blemish. He knew the way the eyes would light up whenever he was happy, and the way the nose would scrunch every time he laughed. 

Jun smiled at the memory, of a happy face, of a scrunched nose, of sharp eyes and warm lips. He reached across and brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across the sleeping figure’s face, fingers lingering on his cheek as long as they could without waking him up. Yes, he knew that face so well, like a blueprint of the other was etched in his memory. But he also knew that the other, no longer knew his. 

•••

Everything had happened so fast, that sometimes Jun still found himself asking if it really had. Then he would be wrenching himself from sleep, from dreams of screeching brakes, breaking glass and black ice. From the sight of limp bodies littering the streets surrounded by pools of a dark liquid that made even the cold air taste strange and metallic. From the sounds of ambulance sirens, as they sped through the dark streets, a cold hand in his and streams of warmth running down his face. 

He couldn’t escape that night, the night he had found Wonwoo lying cold and broken on the side of the road. He relived the sight of Wonwoo being wheeled into an operating theatre every night, relived the fear and anxiety as it knotted in his chest the entire duration Wonwoo had been inside. His heart breaking every minute that he didn’t know whether Wonwoo had made it, whether he was still alive on that table. 

His heart clenched and the blood roared in his ears as he remembered the words the doctor had said to him that night after the surgery, still wearing the scrubs that were covered with the blood of his husband. “Severe head trauma”, “retrograde amnesia”, “might not know who you are, might not know anyone”. He felt like the doctor had ripped his heart from his chest, felt the power, the weight of his words, his prognosis. His husband would no longer remember him, remember them. But he was alive, and that was all that had mattered. 

Then came the anger, anger that life had taken his whole world from him. Anger that he had only had a month to call the man before him ‘husband’ before that right had been taken away. Anger at himself for not being there when it happened, for not picking Wonwoo up that day. He had lived many nights since then wondering if he could have changed things, could have made things different. A small part of his mind would even wonder if he could have, perhaps, taken his place. But when he realised that meant Wonwoo would be the one going through the pain he was currently going through, he took that thought straight back. No, he would never, ever let Wonwoo go through this pain. 

He would rather Wonwoo forget everything, then have to relive the memories that he re-lived every night. The memories of waking up in a cold hospital room to the sight of the person you loved the most in the world hooked up to tubes and monitors. The memories of that same person opening his eyes for the first time since the accident and not knowing who he was looking at. The memories of introducing himself as Wonwoo’s caretaker, instead of his husband, so as not to overwhelm him. Memories of promising to care for him regardless, regardless of whether his memory returned. 

He had stopped feeling angry after a while though, after a couple of months, when he realised his anger would do nothing to help Wonwoo. A Wonwoo who only knew him as a caretaker, a minder,  _ a keeper _ . He had laughed at the cruel joke then when he and Wonwoo had written that into their vows he hadn’t realised that life would have taken it literally. But he  _ had _ promised Wonwoo that, and he would keep it for as long as they lived, till death do them part.

•••

Jun leaned back in his chair and watched him as he slept, he looked so peaceful, only in sleep could Jun pretend that he just might be his husband again. His heart clenched and he felt tears well in his eyes, so he closed them, willing them not to fall. He couldn’t cry in front of Wonwoo, not even while he was sleeping. His hand reached up to grasp the ring he wore around his neck as he tried to steady his breathing, tried to hold back his sobs. 

He never took it off, their ring, even though he no longer wore it on his finger. He told himself he would only put it back on if Wonwoo’s memories returned, he couldn’t bear to look at it every day but he also couldn’t bear to be apart from it - his last connection to the Wonwoo he knew. Wonwoo’s own ring was hidden in the back of his wardrobe; he had removed it that night and hadn’t looked at it since. 

Images of their time together flashed through his mind as he fiddled with the ring. Images of how they’d met, back when they were still in college and Wonwoo had first moved into Jun’s apartment as his roommate. Of Wonwoo looking vaguely annoyed when he’d returned home to find the heaters off. Because he was always cold and needed their apartment to be always warm but Jun had just wanted to save on their bills. Jun had never turned the heaters off in winter again. 

Then there were images of Wonwoo, poring over books and papers as he struggled over his thesis. Of himself making Wonwoo food because he knew the other always forgot to feed himself when he was too focused on his task. He remembered the night Wonwoo had broken down from the stress of doing a double degree, of having to deal with double the load while struggling to keep his job, which had been his only source of income for college and rent. He remembered that night because it was the first night he had held him in his arms, the first time he had seen him at his most vulnerable, the night he had realised how much more Wonwoo meant to him than a friend or roommate. 

His heart lurched at the memory of Wonwoo in his arms, at his familiar weight, which really wasn’t all that much considering his small frame. It had been six months since the last time he’d held Wonwoo, six months since their world had collapsed and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to return to bed and curl up against Wonwoo, to hold him close and breathe him in again. 

But they were already in a precarious position, Wonwoo had only recently become comfortable enough to let him share the bed. Granted it was mostly because Jun had refused to leave him alone in a room and so had spent the first few months since the accident sleeping curled up in a chair by Wonwoo’s bed. As they grew closer (again), and Wonwoo grew more comfortable with him, the other had started to realise what Jun was doing and had offered the other side of the bed to him. As long he stayed on his side, of course, the middle of the bed their greatest divide. 

That was another night Jun remembered clearly. Wonwoo had woken up, more lucid than normal, just as Jun was settling himself in his chair. The gaze that he had directed towards Jun sent a shiver down his spine, it was so familiar and yet so alien. A look that had belonged on that face, once, but no longer did. “Come to bed, Jun” was all he said and it was like Jun was magnetised, could do nothing but listen to him, to those words that had meant something else not that long ago. He woke up unsure, wondering whether Wonwoo would remember what he had said or whether he would wake up surprised, or worse, uncomfortable. Unable to face that revelation, he had forced himself out of bed and into the chair before Wonwoo had woken up, an action he continued to do until the present. 

That was the start of Wonwoo’s random moments of lucidity, moments where it seemed like  _ his _ Wonwoo had returned. But they never stayed, some barely lasted a minute, and they always left Jun wanting and sore. For all that he would give anything to have Wonwoo back, he would rather not have to live through those moments, moments that never failed to bring him back to the happier times that were now nothing but sad memories. 

An image of Wonwoo snaking an arm around his waist while he cooked wafted through his mind, an action that would have been comfortable, had it not been followed by the other immediately dropping his hand as though he had been burnt. Jun could still see the lost look in his eyes as he tried to understand why he’d just done that, could still remember telling him that it was alright but that maybe he should stay out of the kitchen. 

Another time Wonwoo had woken from his nap calling for out for him, calling a nickname he had refused to reveal after the accident. Jun, who was in the living room having tea, had whirled around so fast that his teacup had gone smashing to the ground. The noise startling a half-asleep Wonwoo, who had been making his way out of the bedroom, right back into the haze of his inaccessible memories. By the time Jun reached him, the person that had called for him was gone. 

Wonwoo stirred in his sleep and Jun’s eyes flickered open, so attuned was he to Wonwoo that he hadn’t needed to see the movement, to feel it. Jun frowned as he noticed the beads of sweat collecting on Wonwoo’s forehead, noticed the frown lines and the furrowing of his brow. This had been happening a lot recently, the nightmares and the night terrors. He had started to wake up terrified, scarred by whatever horrors he’d seen in his dreams. But it was only when the night terrors started that Jun realised Wonwoo was reliving that night, realised it when Wonwoo started to call out for him, afraid, in the dead of night. 

Every time that it happened, Jun was forced to wrestle with the side of him that wanted to reach across the bed and pull him close, wanted to hold him, to soothe the terrors away. But he knew that if Wonwoo remembered the accident, remembered himself, it was only ever in those painful dreams. Because whenever he woke, he had shown no sign that he had suffered in the night, all memories and nightmares forgotten. 

Even now, he had to fight the urge to grab Wonwoo’s hand, to comfort him in a way beyond what he should. Instead, he settled for wiping away the sweat on his brow, dabbing gently while watching for any sign that the sleeping man might waken. He was just putting down the cloth that he had set aside for this specific purpose when he felt a slender hand close around his wrist, heard a voice calling out for him, calling out  _ his _ name.

“Junnie-ya.” The voice sounded so weak, so scared that Jun couldn’t bear to look. He knew that Wonwoo was still dreaming, that he was still reliving the night that had become his nightmare. But that name, no one called him like that except Wonwoo,  _ his Wonwoo _ . A shiver ran down his spine at the same time that a warmth ran up his arm, starting from where Wonwoo was touching him and blossoming in his chest. He had to collect himself, had to hold himself together before his emotions overwhelmed him. He was just starting to pull himself together, was just getting used to the feel of the hand on his wrist when the voice spoke again and he knew he had lost.

“Junnie?” Wonwoo’s voice was hoarse from sleep but still trembled with fear and the effort of holding back tears. “Junnie, I’m scared.”

Jun couldn‘t hold himself back any longer, not when Wonwoo sounded so lost, so afraid. He would deal with the aftermath later. He put a hand slowly on the one that was grasping his wrist, stroking gently, rubbing circles into the back of Wonwoo’s hand with his thumb. 

“It’s so dark, Junnie.” Wonwoo continued, his voice shrinking to a whimper. “I can’t see anything. I don’t know what happened.” His voice started to tremble and the grip on Jun’s hand tightened significantly. Jun looked back at him, in time to see the frown deepen on Wonwoo’s face as tears started to slip down his face. There had been episodes where Wonwoo had woken up crying or cheeks tear-stained, but never one where he had spoken beyond calling out his name. Jun didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he  _ could _ do. All he knew was that he wanted to help him, to comfort him, to take the pain away. So he spoke back. 

“Shhh, Wonwoo, it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“There was a car, Junnie,” Wonwoo answered back, audibly crying now, even though his eyes remained closed and remained in his nightmare. “I think- I think it hit me. I don’t know…” There was a pause before he continued, pulling Jun closer, desperate. “Don’t leave me, please. It’s cold and dark. Please, don’t leave me alone.”

Jun couldn’t hold back his tears anymore, as he felt himself being taken back to that night too, back to the night he’d found his husband’s lifeless body sprawled across the sidewalk, blood pooling around him. 

“Never.” He choked out between sobs. “I will never leave you, I promised. We promised.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he edged closer to the bed until he was kneeling by Wonwoo’s head. 

He dropped his voice to a whisper as he reached out to brush a hand throw Wonwoo’s hair, comforting, “I will always be here, to love you, to keep you. Even if you no longer remember who I am, I won’t leave you.  _ I love you _ .”

Wonwoo’s eyes snapped open at the words, gaze immediately falling on Jun, who immediately dropped his gaze as he tried to back away, tried to give the other the space he needed. But the grip on his hand tightened, refused to let him go any further. Jun looked back at him, wary, only to see that Wonwoo’s eyes were still filled with tears, with fear, and, something else that Jun refused to acknowledge, was too afraid to. Then he opened his mouth, took a shaky breath, and spoke. 

“Junnie-ya.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the angst (I lowkey live for this) but at least it's a happy ending! I'm so nervous about this fic because it was a spontaneous thing but I hope you liked it. Tell me what you thought in the comments or talk to me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/_moonfleur_)


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